


The Art of Being in a Blackrom

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, Cute angry kismesises, Lusus loves you, M/M, Quadrant vacillations, Sol's a shitstain, redrom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sollux knows just exactly how to get under Eridan's skin, and Eridan can't help but hate him for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Being in a Blackrom

**Author's Note:**

> So short. Just more emotional ranting.

==> Be Eridan Ampora

You’re more than infuriated, blinded by complete and utter rage at the fact that your kismesis isn’t coddin respondin on Trollian. You know it’s stupid to be so mad about something so pathetic, but it doesn’t help. You’re so pissed off, you can’t think straight. You jab at the keyboard with your slender fingers, the finely manicured nails ticking as the keys clack loudly. You can feel your face sliding into a scowl, and you slam the heel of your palm hard enough into the mouse to send your angry message that it cracks, the plastic giving way and slicing up into your palm. 

You curse loudly, standing and leaving your respiteblock quickly. Your beautifully colored cape dances behind you as you stalk downstairs, but you aren’t in any mood to appreciate the dramatic effect. 

“Pbbt?” Your lusus inquires as you begin to bandage your palm, having no regards to clean the wound.

“It’s nofin.” You reply tersely, hanging your scarf and cape up in your respiteblock, but he follows you. 

“Nrgh.” He comments right back, treading air as he joins you on your trip topside.

“Sol’s being a shitstain.” You growl, trying your best to ignore him.

“Ernf.” 

“I know he’s my kismesis!” You spit, scowling again and standing in the wind, hair whipping out of place and going into your eyes.

You close them and fold your arms as your lusus bobs silently beside you, nose gently rubbing between your shoulder blades. You sigh and massage your temples, adjusting your hair, before looking up.

He’s sitting there in front of you, smirking. “Shitstain, huh?” He asks, amused, his lisp clear.

You feel the anger fade from you, and you try not to smile. “Yeah.” 

He chortles softly and kisses you. “Your shitstain.”


End file.
